we are one (and we are legion)
by The Dreaming Hare
Summary: A collection of tales written for the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition, Season 5. Currently in progress.
1. the choices we make (cannot be run from)

Written for QLFC Round #1

Team: Wigtown Wanderers

Position: Chaser 1

Prompt: Harry/Ginny (Chaser 2's NOTP)

Additional Prompts: (object) broken wine glass, (quote) The problem with people is they forget that most of the time it's the small things that count., (phrase) over the moon.

Words: 1219

Title: the choices we make (cannot be run from)

 **Beta'ed by** : **Kage Kitsune, CUtopia, and VanillaAshes. Thanks y'all!**

The Wizarding World knew very well that Harry Potter, the Man Who Conquered, had found his one true love in Ginevra Weasley, the seventh child of a seventh son. It was easy to see that they were absolutely over the moon for each other. Their wedding had been hugely publicised, the couple's steps dogged by reporters since before their engagement had been announced. It annoyed them both greatly, though once Ginny was on the professional Quidditch circuit, things normalised for her somewhat.

Still, it was a burden that their new marriage didn't need, though both weathered it quite admirably. Until the incident.

It was a normal evening, Harry was playing host to Ron and Hermione for dinner. He enjoyed the freedom to make an elaborate meal of his choice and then sitting down to eat it with his loved ones. What had once begun as a novel pleasure that had never faded, and was now something of a weekly tradition. Usually, Ginny would join them.

On this particular occasion, Ginny was on a training rotation with the Harpies, and wasn't meant to be home for days.

"- and then he had the gall to tell me that my department had to submit another request! As if we hadn't already followed the ridiculous procedures already set in place," Hermione fumed.

"No use getting worked up over it," Ron replied. "You know you can't rely on that bloody ferret to change his ways."

Harry nodded in agreement and Hermione opened her mouth to retort – and the floo flared green.

All three froze before relaxing as Ginny stepped out.

"Gin! Didn't think you'd be able to make this one," Ron said happily. "Come have a seat, here pull up a glass."

With that, he handed her his empty wine glass before snatching up the bottle to pour.

"Not tonight, Ron," Ginny replied tersely. She was clutching her overnight bag so tightly Harry feared for her hand. "I have to speak to Harry right away."

"Right," he replied, looking between them. "We'll just be on our way then, shall we?"

With that he bustled a protesting Hermione out the floo, and Ginny sealed it after them. Harry and Ginny stared at each other for a long moment, the tension in the room so palpable Harry feared it might swallow him if he didn't speak.

"Ginny, is something wrong?"

She gave a soft cry before throwing herself at him, dropping her bag and the wine glass. Neither of them paid any mind to the shattered glass adorning the floor as Harry caught her up in an embrace. Ginny was already shaking with the strength of her sobs as an alarmed Harry soothed her.

After what seemed like an age, her tears turned to soft hiccoughs and Harry guided her to their room, sitting her on the edge of the bed.

Ginny looked up at him with red-rimmed eyes before pulling him down to join her and taking a steadying breath.

"During the medical check at training, they found something," she said and Harry's heart stuttered in his chest as he looked at her in horror.

"None of that," Ginny reassured him. "I'm not ill."

"But you've just said- "

"I know what I said! Just… just let me finish."

Harry swallowed heavily and nodded, taking her hands in his.

"So they found something. Our medicals are supposed to be confidential, but Greene overheard the results and blabbed about it in the stadium to the others, the ninny."

She locked eyes with him as she continued, squeezing his hands with more force than was strictly pleasant.

"There were reporters in the stands for a publicity op, so it will be in all the papers by morning."

"What will be in the papers?" Harry asked, unable to contain himself.

"I'm pregnant, Harry," she said, tears threatening to spill over once again.

His eyes widened and he froze as her words washed over him. Pregnant. She was pregnant. He was going to be… a dad? Minutes ticked by as she watched him process the information.

"Harry?"

"Mmm," he said, too dazed for words.

"I didn't want it to be this way," she began, and his world snapped back to focus abruptly.

"You don't want the baby," he said, hurt, and began to withdraw his hands from hers. She tugged them back into her lap and glared at him venomously.

"That isn't what I said! Honestly, Harry." Her voice softened as she continued. "You're my husband and I love you. I want a family with you."

"Then, what- "

"I wanted more time for us, Harry! I wanted more travel, and fun, and for us to get what we wanted from our careers before this happened. Before we settled down to become parents and produce the perfect little family that everyone expects from us!"

Crying once more, Ginny looked at him imploringly as she continued.

"But now the papers will be all over it and any choice we might have made, any say we might have had in the matter is gone! And this will be our lives. This is it, now."

Harry understood then what she meant. Ginny loved him, of that he had no doubt. She was simply afraid of being trapped into a life she didn't want. She was afraid of being relegated to childminding and housewifery as he traipsed around as an auror and lost sight of who she was. Ginny, who had grown up in a house with six brothers and money that never stretched quite far enough, was afraid of becoming a version of her mother that would be measured up and found wanting.

It was with that insight that Harry answered her at last.

"Ginny, I would never ask that of you," he began. "If this isn't the time you feel is right, you can make that choice and I'll support you, and damn those who say otherwise!"

"You would wait?" She asked tremulously.

"Of course I would! Either way, it won't be what you think, Gin. You don't have to stay at home if that doesn't suit you. You can keep your Quidditch career, or find something you love even more. I'll stay home if you don't like the idea of nannies, or we could wait ten years and just adopt," he said.

She gaped at the stubborn tilt to his chin, before a small laugh escaped her.

"Why Harry Potter, I do believe you would fight the whole world for me," she said.

"Yes," he replied simply. He examined her tear stained face, her tousled hair, her work-roughened hands. "I would fight the whole world for you. To keep this. Not for only you, but for us."

She sighed softly as his green eyes flitted over her, as he looked at her and found everything he had ever wanted.

How silly of her it had been, to think that this man would ever deny her anything. How ridiculous it was to think that they would have to cater to the whims of societal standards. Harry didn't care about being normal. Harry cared about her, about them.

Her choice seemed so much easier now than it had during Quidditch practice.

"Harry, you're going to be a dad," she said, "and I'm going to be a mum."

Her choice was made.


	2. little witch lost (little veela found)

Written for QLFC Round #2

Team: Wigtown Wanderers

Position: Chaser 1

Prompt: Setting (Beauxbatons)

Additional Prompts: (dialogue) "If you leave now, you get nothing.", (quote) "Freedom is still the most radical idea of all.", (word) shadow.

Words: 1081

Title: little witch lost (little veela found)

 **Beta'ed by** : **Kage Kitsune, RawMaterial, & AelysAlthea. Thanks y'all!**

It was a beautiful summer day in the Pyrenees, the sounds of birdsong and waterfalls mingling to form an idyllic background to the silent sobs of one lone young girl.

Her flaxen hair in great disarray, she perched on the edge of an intricately-filigreed fountain as she muffled her tears in her hands. Despite being so close to the water, no spray touched her sky-blue uniform or her fair skin. She was marred only by her sadness.

This was no new development for Gabrielle Delacour.

Despite the great beauty afforded her by her Veela heritage, she was known for being perpetually tear-faced and thus not worth the effort of friendship or courting. With a few rare exceptions, she was left to her own devices. That general disdain left her even more tearful and thus perpetuated her cycle of loneliness.

"You have such a lovely face," her father had often said. "If only you would smile more, my dear."

There had been much anticipation among the Beauxbatons staff and student body for the arrival of the younger Delacour sister. Speculation painted her as a miniature version of Fleur, effortless grace and disdain even at a tender age. Truly, while Fleur and Gabrielle had attended school together, Gabrielle had done her best to emulate her older sister in all the ways that seemed to count. She was cooed over by the older girls, and older boys snuck looks when they thought her attention was elsewhere. She'd lived as Fleur's shimmering shadow.

It was rather uncomfortable.

She'd never cared for the Charms work that her sister was so enamoured with. Fleur's skill was a Veela gift, which became clear when an uninterested Gabrielle could master Charms well above her age level with ease. Her peers grumbled about unfair advantages, and she was taken to task in harsher ways in her theoretical work to compensate for it.

When Fleur had graduated and thrown her lot in with the English and their war, Gabrielle's carefully constructed façade had crumbled from within. Her grades had taken a swift nosedive, brought up only by a threat from her father

"If you think you won't be sent to the Veela Colonies to find a suitable mate, think again my girl. Either value your education, or lose it."

So she valued it. Gabrielle valued every day she spent avoiding the poisonous looks of her dorm-mates, who were incensed at sleeping in the same room as a _half-breed._ She valued the time she spent tutoring younger students who wouldn't dare to mock her to her face. She valued re-writing essays in the quiet, soaring stacks of the ash-shelved library, and quiet meals next to the kobold in the palace kitchens, soot settling onto her robes.

"If you leave now," she would say to herself, "you get nothing."

The kobold would cackle in agreement as the house elves steered clear of them both. Most were uneasy with the sentient fire of the hearth sprite, and with the little miss who wasn't as she seemed on the outside. They could sense the fire that burned under her skin too.

Fleur had learned to use their blood to her advantage. Gabrielle saw no use in such tactics. They were as they were made.

Yes, the Veela allure simmered under her skin. When she walked the vast carpeted halls, even some portraits would be struck by her beauty. Yes, she was gifted in Charms – able to float even the heaviest objects, and she could indeed sing birds from the trees. But she had no need of heavy lifting, and the birds were merely recognizing her as distant kin – though she would never share that small detail.

Gabrielle found no solace in her blood, nor did she find armour as her sister did.

Instead, she sought the seething heat of the palace greenhouses. As sweat matted her hair and darkened her robes, she found joy in wrestling with Biting Begonias and creeping ivy that could strangle faster than you could blink. She discovered that she could sing to the plants as well as her feathered kin, and though they wouldn't always obey they were always listening.

She sang to the roses of her fierce sister, and their thorns bristled with respect for her. She sang to the grand old willows near the fountain of her mother's life as a bought bride, and their branches grew longer and swayed in shared sadness. She lay in the grass overlooked by the stables and sang of her father, and it grew long to caress her cheeks and hide her from prying eyes as the herd of Abraxan stallions continued to graze unbothered.

While her classmates forged alliances in the dining hall, Gabrielle stayed only long enough to stand and pay her respects to the Headmistress – a woman like her sister, who had used her blood as armour and stood strong in the face of disdain and discrimination.

Gabrielle was not strong. She cried at the injustice of her situation, and at the injustices she saw meted out in the halls where students pretended not to see. A child of Werewolves tripped near the tall upper staircases, catching himself neatly on the balustrade before he could have fallen. A dreamy girl who spoke with trees was reprimanded by professors again and again for failing to obtain a 'proper wand'. The small and effective branch from her mother's tree couldn't help but remind them that she was a dryad.

Beauxbatons was Gabrielle's home, and yet it wasn't. Far more comfortable than the house she occasionally shared with her parents, it was rife with discontent among staff and students. Still, it was a doorway to a better life. While she didn't cherish the sweeping architecture or the ostentatiously large windows, she found solace in the lush grounds and the stables. Gabrielle found her own strength in the greenhouses with dirt crusting under her nails at last, and the exhilarating feeling of knowing she was working to be better at something.

Fleur couldn't understand her lack of friends or fascination with herbology – but there was one thing she could understand.

Neither Fleur not Gabrielle could sit back and let their blood dictate their lives, and though they took different paths to freedom they both found it all the same. In the hallowed halls of Beauxbatons, Gabrielle found that she would never be accepted as she was.

In the sweltering greenhouses and vast grounds of Beauxbatons, Gabrielle found it a lot easier not to care.


	3. (blood) traitor

Written for QLFC Round #3

Team: Wigtown Wanderers

Position: Chaser 1

Prompt: Write about the Truth leading to a death

Additional Prompts: (quote) You don't have to live forever. You just have to live., (sound) screaming, (emotion) regret.

Words: 1248

Extension used (1/5)

 **Unbeta'ed this round, but thanks to my glorious teammates for being so lovely.**

Draco jolted awake as screams echoed around him, and fisted his hands in his bedsheets as they continued unabated. Staring blankly at the silk canopy above him, he shivered uncontrollably.

Every evening in recent memory he had awoken thus. The silencing wards kept around the rarely used dungeons had been removed as they'd been filled with people. Draco dared not erect silencing charms of his own as the entire Manor was under a magical monitoring ward. He could not show an ounce of weakness to the Dark Lord. It was for his listening pleasure that the silencing wards had been removed.

Keyed into the wards of Malfoy Manor now, the Dark Lord's magic curled around Lucius' and his own power, their ancient family magic slowly being overridden by the taint of an interloper.

It disgusted him.

 _Sanctimonia Vincet Semper._

Those were the words his father had repeated to him as he taught him of their illustrious background. Those were the words his mother had whispered to him before bed while smoothing back his hair and kissing his brow. They were said again as he took lessons with his private tutors and learned to fly on the grounds of the manor. They were spoken with pride by his parents as he got the results for his exams, and was chosen for prefect.

Purity Will Always Conquer.

Perhaps to some it seemed as if purity had indeed conquered with the Dark Lord's rise. Draco knew better.

He watched as his father's wand was taken and destroyed, as his mother's smiles became brittle, as his aunt roamed the manor cackling her glee to all that would hear. His body had trembled as he realised he was incapable of committing murder. His heart had stopped briefly as he watched his godfather do so in his stead.

Everything had gone so wrong. If only he had known what would happen!

The screaming finally stopped and Draco sighed in relief before getting out of bed. Slipping into a serviceable robe and boots, he left his room. While in years past he could have summoned a house-elf to fetch something for him, another new rule put upon the household was that only the Dark Lord could command the services of the elves.

Quietly, Draco made his ways through the now silent halls, portraits of Malfoys past staring ahead stone faced. Only the occasional blink let on that they were in fact magical portraits. They had refused to interact with all in the manor since the Dark Lord had begun occupying it. They were loyal to family alone, believing that a true Malfoy bowed to no one.

That was why Draco was shocked when a portrait addressed him as he crept down an upstairs hallway.

"Young Malfoy," she hissed. "You must do your family honour!"

He stopped and looked at the portrait, a beautiful woman with large silver eyes and the blonde fall of hair characteristic of their family. His great-great aunt Alcmene Malfoy stared back at him, her head tilted up defiantly.

"I tried," he replied. "And look where it's landed me."

She sniffed. "Petulance does not become you, nephew."

"Please," Draco said. "What could a portrait possibly do for me now?"

Alcmene Malfoy's portrait squared her shoulders, her eyes absolutely icy as she responded.

"A portrait can help you salvage the shame your father and grandfather have brought upon our line. A portrait can help you stop the wards from destroying themselves."

"They're keyed to him now. I'm aware that they'll eventually be completely ruined," Draco said.

"That is not what I'm referring to. Do you not know who is being kept in our dungeons? Whose blood is being spilled upon the ancient stones?"

Her outrage was palpable, and Draco was briefly relieved that she was unable to leave her portrait as he shook his head.

"Your ignorance will be the ruin of us. Our own blood spills over and over and you do nothing but listen to her screams!"

Draco paled as he realized who she must mean. There was only one female prisoner in the dungeons at the moment, but she wasn't of their blood.

"The Lovegood girl?"

"A Lovegood by name," Alcmene replied. "But a Malfoy by blood. Her mother Pandora was born a Malfoy, and grew up quite close to her cousin Lucius before she married into the Lovegood family."

"What?" Draco couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"Oh yes, young Malfoy. Your father knows who she is."

Draco stared at the portrait in horror. His father knew that Lovegood was of their blood, and still took part in her torture? He thought of the reedy screams that had torn at his ears since she was imprisoned, and ruthlessly suppressed the urge to vomit on the carpet. He breathed deeply for a long moment before he straightened and nodded at Alcmene.

"Thank you, Aunt, for this valuable information. I will bring honour to our family once more."

She returned his nod, her parting words soft as he strode with new purpose towards the dungeons.

"See that you do, Draco."

All that Draco had been taught, the pride he took in his name and his blood, was a lie. Malfoys never bowed to others. Malfoys put family above all else. Malfoys valued tradition. The magic that coursed through their blood was a precious gift that light wizards dishonoured by instituting muggle traditions in place of those that had existed for centuries. Blood traitors they'd been in name, but now he had learned the truth.

His father had dishonoured their name, their blood, and their traditions. He had spilled Malfoy blood within the protective wards, purposefully intending to cause pain. He was a blood traitor in the truest sense. They were lucky they hadn't woken with their blood boiling in their veins as magic sought retribution for such a wrong.

Draco couldn't commit a murder for the wrong cause, but he could save a life for the right one.

Drawing his wand, he entered the dungeons and was relieved to see no guards posted. Knowing he wouldn't have much time, he peered into several empty cells before finding the correct one with a sense of mounting panic.

She sat in the flickering light from the torches outside the cell, her pale hair gleaming as it tangled around the figure with it's head in her lap. Ollivander, Draco realised with a start. He slept uneasily even with his human pillow, blood staining his face and robes. Luna hummed as she stared into nothingness, her voice soft and haunting.

Draco interrupted her quietly.

"Lovegood!"

She stiffened imperceptibly, her humming stopping but a moment before it resumed.

"Lovegood, I've come to get you out of here," he said.

"And Garrick?" she asked, voice as dreamy as he'd ever heard it.

"Yes, him too. Get him up and come here to the door."

As Luna gently shook Ollivander awake, Draco looked down the hall into darkness, tapping his wand against his thigh.

"Alright, come on now. Right up to the door."

As they complied, Draco prepared them for what was about to occur.

"I'm going to open the door, and when I do you must be ready to follow me. We're going to run down this corridor, and I'm going to open a secret passage out of the manor. When we're followed, you can continue without me. Get as far away as you can while I hold them off."

"Does the passage lead to a happy place?" Luna asked.

"It leads to a small wizarding village where you can find a floo connection," Draco replied.

Ollivander nodded at him in understanding as Luna began humming once more.

"Go on then, young Malfoy," he said.

Draco took a deep breath before slashing his wand at the lock, turning to race down the corridor as a klaxon sounded somewhere in the manor above them. The wards fluctuated as Draco cut open his palm with another slash of his wand. Reaching what appeared to be a dead end, he smeared his palm against the stone and the wards parted briefly as another corridor opened before them, stone cool and untouched for decades.

He ushered Luna and Ollivander ahead of him, catching Luna's hand before she could begin to flee through the tunnel.

"You're going to need this," he said, pulling a spare wand from a holster on his ankle. "You'll be able to open the corridor at the other end. Get as far away as you can from here!"

Her protuberant eyes bored into him as she took the wand, and he swallowed heavily to see how emaciated she was. Something flickered in their silver depths and she sighed before pulling him into a quick embrace. Letting go of him, she turned to follow the wandmaker into the depths of the passage, her parting words staying with Draco in the long minutes that followed.

Her soft voice stayed in his ears even as he fought to give them time to escape, two Death Eaters falling to his curses before his Aunt Bellatrix opposed him. Even then he heard her. He clung to those words as he fell to Bellatrix, a sickly green light overtaking him.

 _("Goodbye, cousin. May we meet again in a brighter world.")_

And so they would.


	4. courage (is not enough)

Written for QLFC Round #5

Team: Wigtown Wanderers

Position: Chaser 1

Prompt: Write about a character demonstrating resilience after a personal trauma or tragedy

Additional Prompts: (dialogue) "I wish you had told me before I-"/"What? Before you what?", (word) difference, (word) serene

Words: 1249

Extension used: (2/5)

 **Title: courage (is not enough)**

 **Beta'ed by: DinoDina & VanillaAshes. Thanks!**

For all that Augusta had railed against her son and his new wife joining Dumbledore's underground resistance group, never had she thought it would come to this. Soon after the death of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had been confirmed, Frank and Alice had arrived through the floo at Longbottom Manor. It was a tearful reunion as they rejoiced in each other's company after leaving the Fidelius-warded home in which they'd been staying. They mourned the deaths of the Potters even as they introduced Augusta to her grandson for the first time.

All too soon, things had gone to hell.

The ancient Manor wards had been breached and Augusta, with Neville in her arms, had been summarily immobilised by Frank and stuffed in a hidden cupboard - a slight that she had fully intended to punish her brash young son for. She could, and had, dueled with the best of them!

But then the screaming had begun, and Augusta had listened horror-struck and absolutely unable to move. She had strained against the bonds of the spell that covered her, even as she was grateful for the magic that kept Neville still and silent, his wide blue eyes frozen on her form.

She heard Alice's screams break, leaving her in broken sobs as Frank himself began to scream.

It seemed never-ending.

By the time the Aurors had arrived. it was too late. The culprits were taken to Ministry holding cells to be tried for their torture of the Longbottoms. Frank and Alice were rushed to St Mungo's, Augusta and Neville following almost a half hour later after finally being found in the cupboard.

Augusta waved away Healers as she arrived to try and find her son to inform his Healer of the torture that had taken place.

They wouldn't allow it, waylaying her so they could examine Neville and fret over such a young child being immobilised. They whispered amongst themselves as if she couldn't hear (his magical core may have suffered – so irresponsible – but the parents, didn't you hear?) though her pointed glare silenced them. Eventually, she shook them off, hurrying from the lobby to the emergency care ward that had been set up in the wake of the war. Little Neville stayed silent in her arms, blinking slowly as she came upon her son and daughter-in-law and their attending healer.

Frank and Alice laid in cots side-by-side, their faces creased even in what was an obviously potion-induced sleep. Frank's limbs were shaking almost imperceptibly, while Alice's hands were clenched so tightly that she was white-knuckled. The Healer stood by the foot of bed, his frown saying more than Augusta cared for.

"Healer," she began. He startled and turned to her, his eyes shadowed. "How are they?"

"You're family, I take it?"

"Augusta Longbottom. You're caring for my son Frank and his wife Alice."

The Healer's eyes widened in recognition and he swallowed heavily. "Ah, Madam Longbottom. I'm Healer Thistlewaite."

He extended a hand that she did not take. He looked away.

"Well? How are they?" she repeated.

"They're… not good. Neither were coherent enough to tell us what had happened, so we followed emergency procedure when they tried to fight us. They've been sedated with Dreamless Sleep for now, as we use some Examination Orbs to run some tests."

Healer Thistlewaite gestured to the unobtrusive glass balls that hovered beside each cot, their colours changing to reflect the different results of each test as the patients were scanned.

"I can tell you exactly what happened, young man, as I was a witness to the entire thing!"

As Augusta detailed precisely what had taken place in Longbottom Manor not one hour past, her voice steady, Healer Thistlewaite paled alarmingly, his eyes widening to show a ring of white around the iris'. Augusta made no pause until he began to physically sway, at which point she whipped out her wand and conjured a seat behind him. He sat heavily when it appeared, looking away from her as he suppressed a visible gag.

"Should I call someone," she asked drily, "or can you hold it together long enough to do your job?"

The Healer shook his head weakly before responding. "It's only – I wish you had told me before I -"

"What? Before you what?" she said.

"Before I enacted procedure! It's meant to be followed for a reason, but in the case of the Cruciatus being held for so long… I just… the difference…"

"What are you talking about?"

He didn't answer, springing from the conjured chair to activate an alarm that wailed around them for a long minute. Neville cried loudly, Augusta bounced him gently as the sound subsided. Two Healers rushed into the ward, converging on Thistlewaite, who hastily erected a silencing spell. Augusta fumed as she watched him gesture, the other healers looking more alarmed as the conversation went on. Finally, the silencing spell was removed and Augusta spoke, voice disarmingly serene.

"One of you had best tell me what that was about. Else you'll quickly find yourselves before the Healer's Association."

The two new Healers looked at one another while Thistlewaite sat down once more, head in his hands.

"You see…" began one hesitantly, before faltering. She turned away from Augusta and instead checked the accrued results from the still lit-up Examination Orbs. She shook her head as she did so.

The other Healer took a deep breath before speaking.

"Madam Longbottom, I'm Healer Antwerd, the ward supervisor this evening. I'm sorry to say that there has been a complication in the treatment of Mr. and Mrs. Longbottom."

Augusta's blood turned to ice in her veins as the Healer went on.

"When Dreamless Sleep was administered, it did indeed put them into a deep sleep. But that was to their detriment. The potion should never be given to those who have recently suffered the effects of the Cruciatus as they react badly to each other. The body's natural magical defense system is unable to address the nerve damage that has been sustained. A sort of stasis is enacted in which the patient is immobile and still experiencing certain aspects of the curse. The nerves continue to spasm and suffer as if the curse had just ended."

"What does that mean for them?"

"In short, we don't know. It will be bad. When they awake, the condition they'll be in will likely inform the state they'll be in for the rest of their lives."

"I see."

Augusta looked down at Neville's tiny face, and stroked his cheek softly. It was unbearably soft.

"You may leave us."

Thistlewaite got up and left immediately, face pale as a ghoul's, whilst the other two hovered for a moment as if they would speak once more.

"I said: you may leave us."

They left.

Augusta pulled the conjured chair to sit between Frank and Alice, and looked down at Neville once more.

"You'll be a strong boy, won't you, Neville? Strong for your gran, and for your mum and dad."

She rocked him as she looked at her son's face and shaking limbs, her daughter-in-law's clenched fists.

They had been tortured, yes, but it was a stupid mistake that would be their undoing. That would deny her grandson his parents. She felt so tired. So unbelievably tired. She would raise Neville, of course, and see to it that Frank and Alice had the best care possible.

The war was over, but Augusta's battles were only beginning. And she would see them through as best she could.


	5. what they don't know (will kill them)

Written for QLFC Round #6

Team: Wigtown Wanderers

Position: Chaser 1

Prompt: Use the film 'Kick-Ass' as inspiration for the fic.

Additional prompts: (location) Nurmengard, (word) visitor, (quote) For every problem there is one solution which is simple, neat, and wrong.

Words: 984

* * *

Please note that this is an AU in which horcruxes don't exist. Read on.

 **Title: what they don't know (will kill them)**

 _For every problem there is one solution which is simple, neat, and wrong._

 _\- H.L. Mencken_

Harry Potter's first kill was a low-ranking Death Eater.

It was messy, his hands shaking as blood spattered his utilitarian black robes. His spelled hood concealed his face and made his eyes glow acid green in the darkness of the run-down flat. The man had been an easy target, a drunk who'd hidden himself in the Muggle world after serving a light Azkaban sentence.

He pulled up the man's sleeve to expose the Dark Mark before leaving.

Harry returned to Albus, who placed a hand on his head and praised his strength and dedication to his parents' legacies. He smiled as he revelled in his guardian's affection.

He was nine years old.

* * *

Harry Potter's sorting was a great surprise to all those who witnessed it, save one.

The boy sat calmly during what seemed to be the longest hatstall in many years. His hands did not shake, his head did not bow, and his face betrayed no expression. Until with a shout, the hat declared Hufflepuff to be his new home. He removed it with a confident smile and headed towards his table, where the occupants were welcoming him with thundering applause. Yellow and black bled to colour his robes and tie.

As he sat, Headmaster Dumbledore favoured him with a nod, which he returned subtly.

Albus Dumbledore was not surprised in the least.

While others had speculated that Harry would be a Gryffindor like his parents, Albus knew that while it was possible, that outcome was unlikely. He had raised the boy to be a paragon of virtue at first glance, and his loyalty and drive were proof of that. Nobody could fault Albus for his guardianship, as all who had met Harry had found him to be a polite and pleasant child. The son of the late Potters being raised and guided by the leader of the light seemed only right. Who else would be qualified to protect him from the Death Eaters still at large?

He had never pictured himself as a father, but he had come to love the boy all the same. Indeed, as he had tutored and trained Harry, he had found himself more proud than he could have imagined.

Young Harry was a sponge, ready to soak up all the knowledge and skill he had to offer. But Albus intended him to be so much more than that. Harry would accomplish the things that he himself had been unable to follow through on as a youth. He had been constrained by the ideals of a populace that had held him up and found him faultless and he dared not challenge that assumption.

No, instead Harry would right the wrongs that had taken his family. Though the Wizarding World wouldn't know it, Harry would free them from the darkness that was slowly creeping through their society.

He would save them all.

* * *

At sixteen, Harry was well-liked by his peers and teachers. A kind and confident boy, he had no trouble helping others with homework or personal problems. Even Severus Snape was known to begrudgingly give the boy points now and then.

Thus, it was no surprise to see him comforting the Malfoy Heir in the Prefect's Lounge one sunny afternoon. Word of Lucius Malfoy's death had shaken the Wizarding World, as it came on the heels of many similar killings in recent years. He had been found in his office, sleeve pulled up to reveal the Dark Mark marring his skin.

Draco thanked Harry for his concern, and if his condolences seemed more urgent or sincere than the others he'd received, he thought nothing of it.

One "I'm sorry" was much like another.

* * *

In his early twenties, Harry was apprenticing to become a Healer.

No one thought it strange that the Boy-Who-Lived wanted to spend his life helping those in need. After all, hadn't he spent his school years doing the same? Tutoring others, making friends across Houses, and comforting all those who lost family and friends who had been Death Eaters. He had even spoken graciously at Severus Snape's funeral, though the enmity between them was well known.

His days were spent in and out of the spell damage wards, covertly checking left arms as he examined his patients. He took lunch in the cafeteria every day and observed all those who came to visit. He paid special attention to those cursed or otherwise injured by darker magic.

If more people turned up dead, their sleeves pulled up to reveal Dark Marks, surely it wouldn't have been a Healer that was culpable.

* * *

Albus had found it amusing when they'd started calling young Harry's alter ego 'the Death Dealer' in the papers.

Now, at the gates of Nurmengard, he was not so amused.

His wards had been cleverly breached but it was clear that the snowy prison camp had had a visitor. He found Gellert as he'd expected, body long cold. His sleeve was not pulled up, for there was no Dark Mark to display. Of course there wouldn't be.

He had always been too held back by his love, but Harry… Harry was fueled by his love. His love for his parents, for the Wizarding World, and for Albus himself.

Harry truly believed in their cause. All he did was for the greater good of the world.

He had told Harry of Gellert and their relationship long ago. He had told him of the regret he felt for what occurred between them. He had revealed the shame of when he'd been unable to strike the final blow against his former love. He had often brought up Gellert as an example of his own failure – to teach Harry how to be better than he'd ever been.

As he stood over Gellert's body, he could feel pride warring with sadness.

Harry was everything that he had hoped he would be.


End file.
